Her Last Secret

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  The soggy snort she gave was muffled by his top, as she buried her face back into it, a mouse burrowing for safety. He thought he could make out the word ‘useless’ but he wasn’t certain if it was only a cough.

  ‘Ruby?’ he probed.

  She looked up at him. Red, puffy eyes, swollen lips and runny nose. He hated seeing her so vulnerable – but loved that he was the only person in the world privileged to witness it.

  ‘What’s the point? Even if they listened – which they totally won’t – they’ll just tell me to stop using social media. Yeah, because that will make it all go away. They’re clueless about real life. Whether I’m checking or not, the posts are still there. Everyone laughing at me. Everyone hating me.’

  Harry rubbed her arm up and down, helpless, trying somehow to erase her pain.

  ‘I’ve never… I couldn’t… telling them would be like… I don’t know, they already think I’m such a loser, they’d probably agree with what everyone’s saying anyway.’

  ‘They’re not going to agree to someone setting up a prozzie site for you, are they? Maybe it’s worth talking to them about this so they can, I dunno, maybe go to the police. It might be worth seeing if your parents are as useless as we think – or if they can step up. What you got to lose, Rubes?’ He could see the war going on inside her.

  She threw her hands up in despair.

  ‘When I try to talk about it, though, I get all bunged up. The words stick together in clumps and I can’t spit them out. I can’t even breathe with them there. It’s just easier not to say anything.’

  She was so pale, as white as the pristine trainers some of the crew wore.

  ‘I get it. The stuff you’ve been put through… no one should have to put up with that, man. And I wish I could do something to make it better. Believe me. But, maybe once you tell your parents about this they’ll go to the police, report that sick shit. This new stuff, making out like you’re offering sex to any takers, it’s off the scale. The police will see your parents, all nice and neat and middle class, and they’ll jump. They’ll investigate, they’ll do their little technological magic to find out who did this and nail them. Job done. I can’t do that for you. Wish I could.’

  ‘I wish you could, too.’ She pulled close to him again and they kissed. ‘I wish it could just be you and me for ever. Screw the rest of the world.’

  ‘Amen to that. Whole world could explode for all I care, long as we got each other. When people hurt you, I want to kill them all, Rubes. Swear. Hearing you say you wish you was dead… Well, if that happened you’d have to take me with you; I can’t live without you, girl.’

  He fell into her eyes, onto her lips. Even with all this talk of death, Harry’s blood thrummed and he’d never felt more alive.

  Fifty-Five

  Mouse hung onto the back of the kitchen chair as she did a little dance. Turned her head to one side and grinned at Aunt Fiona. The little girl was glad her aunt had come home with her and Mummy after the school play. They always had fun together.

  ‘Shall I eat a toffee penny? They’re really, really, really hard. Do you dare me? But if I break one of my teeth, I’m blaming you.’

  ‘I’m feeling lucky.’ Mummy’s friend grinned back from her seat at the table. ‘In fact, I’m feeling so lucky that I’m going to dare you to have a competition with me – whoever can make their sweet last the longest, wins. S, by the way.’

  They were playing hangman, and Mouse pulled a face before grudgingly writing an ‘S’ down at the start of the second word. Then considered Aunt Fiona’s challenge.

  ‘All right, let’s see if at ten to five, in fifteen minutes, I’ve got some toffee sweetie left. Bits will still be stuck in my teeth in about three hours’ time, so I’ll win.’

  ‘Deal,’ nodded Aunt Fiona. ‘Oh, an M, please.’

  Mouse did a jumping jack and shouted the letter out with a laugh. Then she drew a circle for the man’s face.

  ‘No M? Well, I wonder what on earth this can be? First word has seven letters, second word starts with an S, something, double E, something. I wonder…?’

  Aunt Fiona seemed to glance over at the tin of Quality Street chocolates, and Mouse decided to use distraction techniques.

  ‘I want a mobile phone for Christmas. Mummy says they’re expensive, but I’ve said the only other things I want are books, and they don’t cost that much.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to be good and see what Santa brings.’ Aunt Fiona looked around to make sure Mummy wasn’t looking, then stuck her tongue out. ‘We’ve been sucking these toffees for five minutes, and I’ve still got mine. I rule – I’m definitely going to beat you.’

  ‘You will not. You can’t even beat me at hangman.’

  ‘Have you got yours?’

  Mouse giggled as she stuck her tongue out too. ‘Is mine bigger?’

  They shuffled over to a mirror and opened their mouths again, both cackling.

  ‘You’re winning.’

  ‘I always win,’ nodded Mouse.

  ‘You should be in the Guinness World Records.’

  ‘There’s a world record for everything. There’s a record for how long you can be silly for.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  Mummy walked in then, saying she could hear them laughing from down the hallway.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ She pulled a face like she was pretending to be suspicious, but Mouse could tell from her eyes and the twitch of her mouth that she was dying to join in.

  ‘Just playing hangman,’ Mouse replied innocently.

  * * *

  Watching Fiona and Mouse messing around for hours made Dom feel a surprise pang of jealousy. She wished she were so natural with her daughter, but despite being desperate for children, she worried that she was a little stiff with them. She had to try with game-playing, silliness didn’t come naturally to her. Fiona could switch it on, though. No one looking at her with Mouse would guess for a second that she was a hard-nosed divorce lawyer capable of making grown men cry.

  The pair of them could talk about books for hours, and Fiona had an ability to play make-believe with Mouse’s teddy bear that made Dominique quite envious. Mouse couldn’t get enough of her. But, finally, she was persuaded to go upstairs and watch television. She had started to protest loudly and vigorously, looking dangerously close to kicking off a tantrum, until she’d been reminded that Santa would put her on the naughty list if she didn’t watch it. This would probably be the last year she would fall for that ploy, Dom thought sadly, as she poured herself and Fiona each a large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

  ‘So…’ Fiona trailed off meaningfully, and took a mouthful of the red wine. ‘We all right to talk now? You’re sure Benjamin isn’t due back?’

  Dom swallowed, shook her head. ‘He won’t be back for hours. I’m lucky if I see him before I go to bed, most nights.’

  ‘Lucky? Unlucky?’ Fiona pretended to ponder, making a flip flop motion with her hand. ‘What about Ruby?’

  ‘She sent me a text message saying she’s out with friends. Some impromptu thing organised at school. She won’t be back until nine. I replied back reminding her she was grounded and haven’t heard from her since.’

  ‘It really is all piling up, isn’t it? How on earth are you coping?’

  ‘I’ve had more dreams, if that’s what you mean… But I’ve got an appointment for Thursday.’

  ‘Great news.’

  ‘If anything happens to me, you will be okay to have the children, won’t you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know, if I’m sectioned or something. Benjamin’s always too busy, so I need to know the kids will be looked after.’

  ‘Hey, there is no way it’s going to come to that. But if it makes you worry less then I will say the words: of course I’ll have Ruby and Amber. You know I love them to bits, they’re like my own children. Thanks for putting the hard work in giving birth and raising them
so far, by the way. Don’t think I don’t appreciate your input with my children.’

  Dominique laughed despite herself. Fiona could always cheer her up. ‘Yes, that’s no problem. They’d probably prefer to be with you anyway. You know how much they adore you.’

  ‘What a load of rot. They know they’ve got an easy ride with me, that’s all. I’m only ever around for the fun stuff, I don’t have to actually raise them and make sure they turn into decent human beings. Left to me, they’d probably turn feral.’

  ‘Oh, good grief.’

  ‘You. Are. A. Brilliant. Mum. Believe it. Which is why you would be able to cope just fine alone, if you had to.’

  Dom took a significant swig of her wine to show her scorn. Fiona ploughed on regardless.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you. Whether you kick him into touch or make a go of it, I’m here for you. But, to my mind, Benjamin doesn’t deserve you. Juggling you and this mistress? Well, he can’t even claim it was a moment of madness.’

  ‘I know; he must have feelings for her. Four years of lies and deceit. I feel like I don’t know him at all.’

  ‘If he’s capable of lying about this for so long, what else is he willing to lie about?’ Fiona nodded. ‘He’s been having his cake and eating it. Time to make sure you get your slice, my love.’

  Dom bit her lip, unable to reply.

  The fairy lights winked at her, taunting that this was meant to be a time for happy families, for fun outings and cosy times indoors. Not a time for discussing breaking up the family, the fissures cracking open before her eyes.

  Pretty soon she knew she was going to have to confront Benjamin. Tell him that she knew everything. But not right now. Not today. At least the festive season gave her an excuse to put off the inevitable.

  For now, she was more worried about doing something terrible to her family herself, than the damage Benjamin was inflicting on it. That night, before she went to bed, she ignored Dr Madden’s advice, and swallowed a couple of sleeping tablets. Hoped they would knock her out.

  Fifty-Six

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  Keeping to the side of the landing, the chief inspector stepped carefully into the bedroom. And stopped. A woman lay with her head blasted away. A teenager slumped over the body. An officer bent over her, moving a shotgun out of the way. The constellation of blood spatters, tissue, and bone fragments would tell their own story to experts: impact, direction, volume, would reveal who had done what, where, and perhaps even why.

  Open on the bedside table, illuminated handily by the lamp, as though for dramatic impact, lay a diary. Ogundele peered at it.

  Today’s the day. I’m going to kill them all. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.

  The words had been underscored so many times the paper was almost torn.

  Fifty-Seven

  WEDNESDAY 22 DECEMBER

  THREE DAYS TO GO

  Hair tumbled across the pillow and Ruby’s face. Harry reached down and gently stroked the strands to one side. Ruby smiled in her sleep and it took all the strength he had to pull his hand back. With Rubes, he felt safe and comforted in a way he never did at home. Knowing that he made her feel the same, made him transform into a man, no longer a boy.

  He didn’t want to go, but it was late – no, early, he corrected, checking the time on his phone. Four in the morning. Despite the time, he wanted to stay with Ruby. With her, he felt complete in a way he hadn’t been aware was possible, not when he hadn’t even known he wasn’t whole.

  Once she had stopped crying this afternoon, he had persuaded her to switch off her phone while she was with him. They had both managed to calm down a little, talk and listen to music.

  She hadn’t left until about half eight; it was definitely after he’d had to put the twins to bed, because she’d helped him. His mum had been out for the count again. Every move he’d made, he’d wished Ruby was by his side, making smart comments, rolling her eyes, making him see things in a whole fresh way, and smelling so sweet that he felt like one of those old cartoons where people float on the scent. Funny, the more time they spent together, the more he wanted to. He never got bored of her. After spending a whole day together at his place, parting had been harder not easier.

  But they hadn’t been apart for long. By eleven p.m., as arranged, he’d climbed up the trellis below her window. It had been a bit hairy, because about a minute after he’d hauled his arse into her room, her dad had pulled up. But they’d got away with it. Her mum had gone to bed at ten p.m., according to Rubes, drunk after a night talking to some mate or other.

  Both parents too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice Ruby had sneaked a boy into her room. Thank goodness.

  He really, really didn’t want to go. But it was four a.m. and he was shattered. It felt like he was being torn in two as he got up.

  Holding his breath, he crept to the sash window, then glanced back. The cold might wake Rubes when he opened and shut the window. He slipped into the chilly air in double quick time, the original wooden windows sliding back into place easily, leaving only the tiniest gap beneath that he couldn’t quite shut from outside.

  The warmth of Ruby’s body clung to Harry’s skin as he jogged along the streets. It was a comfort. He didn’t want to leave her but he knew he had to get out before the rest of the house stirred. They couldn’t risk discovery. Besides, he needed to be there for when his brothers and mum woke. They relied on him.

  * * *

  A long luxurious stretch, limbs extending, toes curling in the soft morning light peeking around the edges of her curtains. For a moment everything was bliss.

  Naked body. Porno pose. Lurid messages.

  The memories hit Ruby like a boxer’s rally, left, right, left. The last a knockout punch. She closed her eyes, forced herself to breathe, made Harry’s soothing words come back to her. They had talked about the fake prostitute web page set up in her name all night. Finally, she had agreed with him that she had nothing to lose and possibly everything to gain by telling her parents. As soon as they saw the photo and read the messages, they were bound to take action.

  It would take a lot of courage, though. And more than a little swallowing of her rage, suspicion and pride. They stuck in her throat, but she remembered Harry’s own pained face and decided to do it for him. Pulling her dressing gown over her pyjamas, she rushed downstairs.

  * * *

  Her parents were in the kitchen, sharing a silent breakfast, both of them with their noses buried in their tablets. Dad would be reading his newspaper online and Mum would be reading whatever the hell it was she was interested in.

  Ruby brushed aside her irritation, tried to ignore the staccato beat of her heart.

  Mum looked at her first. Her eyes were red, dark marks beneath them, and her skin was pale, but she gave a tight smile.

  ‘You’re up early. What are you going to do with your first day of the holidays?’

  ‘I, um, need to talk to you both…’

  Dad put his tablet down with a theatrical sigh. ‘What have you done now?’

  ‘I – nothing. I haven’t done anything.’ Her voice was louder, more whiney than expected. ‘No, I just—’

  ‘You need to calm down, and stop shouting. You’re in enough trouble already without coming down here and starting first thing.’

  How was it all going so wrong so quickly?

  ‘I am calm, I’m just trying to tell you something and you’re not listening.’

  ‘You better behave tonight. We have friends over and it’s a very important night, okay, so we don’t need you in one of your moods. Best behaviour, young lady.’ Dad gave her a long, hard stare then picked up his tablet again. End of discussion.

  The rage inside Ruby was building up again. Blood thumping, body thrumming. Still, she tried to ball the anger up in her fists and hold it clenched there, but it seemed to be seeping through her fingers.

  ‘Why don’t you ever listen to me? There’s something you need to know—’

 
Mum threw a glance over at Dad, and of course took his side, cutting her off.

  ‘I don’t think now is the best time, Ruby. Why don’t you come back later and tell me about it then, eh?’

  Later? Later?! Why was she always so low in their priorities? Why did they never try to listen to her? Ruby didn’t have hold of the anger any more. It had her in its iron fist. Shook her like a rag doll. She screamed in rage, picked up her father’s glass of orange juice and hurled it against the wall.

  The room exploded with the glass. Shrieks, yells, her parents leaping to their feet. Finally, she had their attention.

  ‘I hate you.’ It wasn’t a shout, it was a poison-laden whisper. She let it drip into her parents’ ears then ran from the room, up the stairs and into her bedroom, which she locked.

  The floor shook with Dad’s stomping steps coming after her. He hammered on her door, told her to ‘open the door immediately’. But she didn’t. Didn’t see why she should do anything to make life easier for those two cretins she called parents. They weren’t interested in her or her life or her pain. They definitely weren’t interested in stepping in and protecting her.

  She wasn’t only angry with them though – she was furious with herself for even trying.

  Finally, Dad bogged off. She heard his car drive away.

  A gentle tap on the door…

  ‘Ruby? Look, what’s going on? Do you want to talk about it?’

  She unlocked the door and skewered her mum with a look of pure venom. When she spoke, she sounded calm. ‘I don’t ever want to speak to you again.’

  Then she closed the door. Sat on her bed and hugged her knees as her rage took flight and her thoughts soared.

  Who did they think they were? Even though it was first thing, Dad stank of whisky and had bloodshot eyes. Yet he had the audacity to lecture her on morals and good behaviour. Hypocrite.